


Not Good.

by Ageless_Daughter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Experimentation, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22785154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ageless_Daughter/pseuds/Ageless_Daughter
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Draco has been expelled from nearly every nearby wizarding school, due to bullying behavior, disrespect for adults, and refusal to complete work. In an attempt to bypass Draco’s hatred for adults, Mrs. Malfoy hires the youngest tutor she can find: 21-year-old Harry Potter.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 78





	1. The Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> I know how scary it is to see “Chapters: 2/?" and no recent uploads, but I am currently writing this story as of 7/31/20 and plan to start updating weekly! Please give it a go, even if you usually only read completed works!

_ POP! _

The clenching rush of apparition fades quickly from Draco’s insides after his feet land heavily on the dragon-patterned foyer rug of Malfoy Manor. Without pausing to face him, his mother hurries away down the hall, unknotting her plush scarf and tossing it toward a hook on the wall, which stretches out gracefully to catch it. As she turns a corner and disappears, the only sign she was ever beside him are two snowy shoeprints, melting and nearly invisible. Sighing, Draco shoulders off his damp coat and throws it upon the nearest piece of furniture on the way to his mother’s office. She is just sending one of their owls from an open window when he saunters in, ink well still open on the mahogany desk.

“Mother,” he begins.

“There is nothing I’d like to hear from you other than regretful silence,” she returns, the cold words coming out smooth and sharp.

“Oh, please. I’m not a child, you can’t -”

“If you’re not a child,” she says, meeting his eyes for the first time since he had been ushered in to see the headmaster, “then I suggest you cease behaving like one. Furthermore, I’ll assume you were  _ not _ about to dictate what I can and cannot do, seeing as I am your parent. A fact I’ve taken little pride in recently.”

“If Father had been there -”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Mother, I -”

“Enough!” Tears now glistening in her eyes, she sucks in a breath and slowly paces toward her son. “You have wasted your final chance. With over twenty student complaints accumulated in two years, I doubted Stellvadour Academy would grant you admission, pulled strings or not. It took you less than a month to get expelled! That must be your quickest expulsion of the four!”

“You seem impressed.” Draco smirks, crossing his arms. He notices the flash of pain on her face, the disappointed fold of her elegant shoulders. Waiting for her to scold him, wanting a reaction, he stares defiantly into her confused eyes.

Instead, his mother presses graceful and quivering fingertips to her frown, staring back in return, searching. After an elongated moment, she reaches out and smooths a thumb over his cheekbone. She smiles sadly with a tilt of her head, and leaves him alone.

“Fuck,” Draco breathes, the tension he’s been holding for hours finally breaking. He catches himself against the desk when his knees weaken. Refusing to allow the prickling tears to fall, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to quiet the echoes in his head.

_ Unforgivable. Delinquent. Hateful. Shocking. Destructive.  _

“FUCK!” Draco roars, snatching a glass snake sculpture and pitching it across the room, sending shards everywhere. Now, it’s too late, and tears run unstoppable, dripping onto the polished wood between his hands. The satisfaction of arguing he once relished never comes anymore, only this dull, empty ache and instant guilt. With time, Draco’s breathing slows and his mind quiets. Wiping his tears from the desk with a sleeve, he rushes out of the study and up to his bedroom. Shattered glass remains, glittering against the dark stone floor like stars among sky.

Hours later, Draco is tensely resting by his fireplace, sipping from a large mug of tea mixed with a rather generous splash of firewhiskey from his mother’s “secret” stash. The screech of an owl pierces through the frozen silence outside.

_ Must be a reply to that letter she sent when we arrived home. _

In a distant room, ancient window hinges squeak open and his mother’s friendly thanks to the owl echo faintly. A knock at Draco’s door comes less than a minute later. Startled, he hurriedly gulps down the rest of his spiked tea and spells the mug clean.

“Yes?” Draco nearly croaks, his throat still burning pleasantly.

Quietly, his mother enters and settles stiffly into another ornate armchair nearby. Folding the recently arrived letter open and closed in her hands, she sighs.

“Draco, darling. I know you don’t like to talk to me about… well, about much these days. So I won’t ask you to. Instead, I’ll simply tell you what I’ve decided, and I hope you’ll be happy with the compromise.”

_ A compromise I didn’t have the opportunity to negotiate? Sounds fair… _

“It’s clear you have trouble respecting adults, especially those in an academic setting,” she says, “and frankly, there isn’t a single school of magic that would now accept a seventeen-year-old student with your… in your situation.”

“So I don’t have to finish school?” Draco interrupts, the liquor making him giggle at his own hopeful joke.

“No,” she replies firmly, her annoyance clear, “I’ve found you a tutor. He has just received his teaching certification early, and by what I’ve heard, he is as bright as they come.”

Draco scoffs. “Honestly, I don’t -”

“He will be here Monday morning at 9 o’clock.” Her word is final, as is the intentionally loud closing of Draco’s bedroom door when she leaves. He flinches, and his closed eyes release a fresh rush of intoxication. Neck softened by the liquor, he suddenly finds his head lolling back. Plushness cradles the nape of his neck. The comfort seems like a fantasy after such a tense, embarrassing, and disappointing day.

Draco’s mind wanders, and the cushion against his skin becomes a careful palm. Phantom fingertips slide through his hair, bringing on a pleasant shiver. When his head rolls to the side slightly, pressure against his jaw is a firm thumb. Rough fabric there: the calloused skin of skillful, mature hands. The perception makes Draco gasp, this sudden fantasy fueled by the firewhiskey now coursing quickly in his pulse. 

_ The hand grasping his neck flexes, fingernails scraping against his scalp. Heat spreads across the side of his neck, where a hot breath is released beneath that firm thumb. Teeth, now, playful and sure, pricking the most sensitive skin. Draco arches up, and an arm fills the empty space behind his back. Clamping solidly nearly all the way around his waist, he lets go into the strength. The biting mouth raises on a hot exhale. Draco holds onto the chair, tension ringing, lips parted and soft and waiting. At last, relieving his hunger, soft lips open against his own, taking control immediately. Draco groans at the satisfaction tumbling through him. He’s consumed, trapped perfectly in a capable embrace. A pleading whine echoes from him when the cruel scratch of stubble burns his cheek… _

“Oh, fuck! No, what?!” Draco shakes himself to alertness and stands up. Was he just fantasizing about bloody  _ beard burn _ ? Unconsciously raising a hand to his mouth, he can still feel it there, the delicious scrape creating heat. Draco rolls his eyes at himself and quickly pulls his hand away, willing the fantasy to disappear. His body, however, has a different idea. Firewhiskey and arousal still filling his veins, the prickling need in his gut and accompanying erection is impossible to ignore.

“Fine,” Draco whispers to himself, “fine, but I’m not thinking of anything.” With that weak self-reassurance, he strips down to his silk boxers and slides between cool bed sheets. After a deep breath to clear his mind, Draco lets one hand spread flat against his belly. The other plays at his waistband, then skims over the fabric, tracing himself through the silk.

_ “You fucking tease,” Draco says, his fingers gripped tightly in soft hair. The tongue torturing him disappears, and a laugh makes warm air tease across him instead. _

“God, oh, god…” Lost in the sweet agony, Draco hardly realizes his mind had wandered. When he does, he shakes his head and focuses on the feeling instead. Better to just get this over with, then. He slips his hand inside and gasps at the chilly touch. Wishing he’d left his wand nearer for a warming charm, he ignores it and wraps a hand around his throbbing cock. The hand against his belly flexes, pressing down as the other starts pumping. Comfortable in his solitude, Draco groans and throws his head back when a spike of pleasure cuts deep. Moving faster, he chases the intensity of his earlier fantasy. It’s not the same, he can tell there’s more, something missing. Experimenting with longer strokes and then focusing on the head, he whines at the pleasure, but an ache remains. When his other hand, still flat below his navel, slips further and further downward, something happens. Fresh arousal courses over his skin, the hand on his cock speeding up automatically. The curious fingertips had stopped just barely behind his balls. Swallowing thickly, Draco squeezes his eyes shut and can feel an orgasm accelerating upward. He carefully moves those fingers, spreading his knees to make room.

_ He spreads his knees to make room, confident fingers sliding further back. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” Draco blurts out.  _

_ The man laying between his legs smiles, mouth pressed against his hip. He brings his dark gaze to meet Draco’s and brushes two fingers against his hole. _

“Shit! Oh, my fucking god…” Nearly painful in its brightness, an orgasm tears Draco apart, stealing his breath. Exquisite heat crashes in waves, tightening and releasing for what feels like an eternity. Hips raised, Draco shakes until the pleasure fades enough for him to open his eyes again. After catching his breath, heart still thumping in his ears, embarrassment floods in. He notices the obscene spread of his legs, so wide his hips ache with the strain. Quickly, he pulls his hands away from himself and turns onto his side, twisting his ankles together. Cold shame wrapping faster around his chest, Draco buries his head under a pillow and clenches his jaw.

_ This is not good. _


	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tutor arrives, Draco frets, disaster strikes.

It’s Monday morning, 8:48 am. The snowstorm ended last evening, and Draco woke to bright moonlight casting through his window… four hours ago. He spent the entire weekend completely on edge, thinking over and over about that horrible evening. If he’s being honest, it wasn’t horrible. It was actually one of the most brilliant wanks he’s ever had, but that’s precisely why it was horrible.

See, Draco had never thought about…  _ that _ before. There have been a few witches here and there over the last two years, but transferring schools constantly meant little time to get to know anyone. Once, he kissed a girl at a party during spin-the-potion, and another time he and a girl snuck off alone during an Astronomy class and snogged in a closet. In fact, he has only snogged (and been told he’s an incredible kisser on multiple occasions), though one girl did let him take her blouse off, so that was kind of fun... 

The point is, he’s more inexperienced than he’d ever say out loud, and with only a handful of girls in his romantic past, there’s really no reason he  _ couldn’t _ be interested in…in...

_ For fuck’s sake, I can’t even say it in my head! _

Draco scowls at himself in the mirror after splashing water on his face for the sixth time since waking up. A tangle of anxiety and disgust slithers in his gut. Sleeping a grand total of sixteen hours over the past three nights has left him with dark shadows under each eye, made even more apparent by his extreme midwinter paleness. Snatching his wand off the marble basin, he strongly considers a beautification spell when the doorbell chimes ominously through the Manor.

8:54 am. Of course, the tutor is obnoxiously punctual.

Straightening his tie and combing a hand halfheartedly through his hair, he puts on the usual disinterested expression. Just to make the tutor feel too early, Draco takes his time on the stairs and finally opens the front door.

“Good morning,” says the most handsome man Draco’s ever seen. He carries a weathered floral suitcase in one hand, and a modern muggle rucksack in the other. When he smiles, he kind of shrugs, making both pieces of luggage flail outward, and Draco refuses to admit that it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever witnessed. Afraid these thoughts will find a way of exploding from him if he doesn’t keep his mouth firmly closed, Draco simply steps aside and lets the man in.

_ NOT handsome. NOT adorable. NO. _

Unwrapping his absurdly long scarf, the man, whose name Draco forgot the moment he looked at those stunning green eyes -  _ NO, NOT STUNNING _ \- laughs softly.

“Apparently I’m a bit underdressed,” the man says shyly. When he removes his peacoat, Draco sees that yes, he is underdressed, in his slim navy blue trousers and untucked buttondown with pushed-up sleeves. Draco is suddenly very uncomfortable in his tie, and not only because it’s strangling all his air and making his face hot. It is definitely the tie doing that.

“This house is outrageous!” The man smiles again and adds, “I mean that in the best way, of course.” He’s zig-zagging around the foyer, leaning in to peer closely at old photos and occasionally taking a hand from his pocket to inspect a family heirloom. Draco watches silently, hands clasped behind his back, completely overwhelmed. He’s never met someone so thoroughly  _ brilliant _ , energy positively  _ radiating _ .

Suddenly the man is much too close, leaning past Draco to retrieve the bags he’d set down. Without even trying, Draco notes that he smells like minty soap, grapefruit, and something herbal.

_ You IDIOT, stop smelling attractive men! NO, NOT bloody attractive! FUCKING IDIOT! _

“Take the lead!” The man is saying, sounding far away.

“Huh?”  _ Oh, how eloquent of you, IDIOT. _

“Lead me to the classroom! Or whichever room shall be serving as one.” He steps to one side of the hall, allowing Draco room to pass.

“Uh, yes,” Draco stutters after an awkward pause, “follow me.”

For a few horrific seconds, Draco has completely forgotten the layout of the home he’s resided in his entire life. When more than two brain cells decide to start functioning, he quickens his pace and gives thanks that the man is no longer in his field of view.

They make it to the art gallery, transformed into a classroom by the addition of a large dining table and four chairs, and Draco announces their arrival without stuttering. After thanking him, the man sets down his suitcase and casts a wordless spell. As he takes a tower of books from the knapsack, the suitcase flings open in a flurry magic. Stacked boxes spring up sideways from the bottom right, various utensils have the opposite compartment, and a black cauldron sits cushioned in the center. In the open lid, there are numerous slots, each filled with a jar, flask, or bundle of plant matter. Every tiny door, drawer, and nook has a minuscule label, nearly illegible.

“Wow, okay,  _ Professor _ ,” Draco sneers, pretending not to be impressed.

“Please, just call me Harry…” 

_ Harry Potter! That’s right. _ Draco celebrates internally, thankful he didn’t have to further embarrass himself by asking. When he risks a glance at Harry’s face, he notices a fresh blush on his olive cheeks. What could have caused that?

“Alright!” Harry straightens, finished organizing his plethora of teaching materials. His hands rest feather-light against the table, masculine fingers spread wide. Draco bites his tongue.

“…Draco?” Harry’s voice fades in.

“Sorry,” Draco says, swallowing, his eyes tearing themselves from those hands.

“You’re fine,” Harry says with another smile, “I thought we’d sit and start with an icebreaker.”

“Ugh, how original.” Draco rolls his eyes, dropping into a chair.

“Well, I…” starts Harry, his brows knit together. He reaches across the table to straighten a book and fidget with his wand. “I’d like to get to know you, Draco.”

The genuine sentiment makes Draco’s tie feel too tight again. Giving in, he slides up in his chair from where he’d been slouched and uncrosses his arms.

“I’m gathering you feel an icebreaker is a bit immature at seventeen. That’s reasonable. So…” Harry gives him another grin, “let’s just talk.”

Draco tries to hold back his own smile, but it fights its way out. This time when his tie itches, he looks down, only to loosen it, definitely  _ not _ to hide his blush.

As rectangles of sunlight creep slowly across the gallery, the two converse in a surprisingly comfortable flow. Draco brushes off sympathy when he mentions his father’s death, even when Harry’s hand begins to reach toward his own, stopping short. Startled, Draco quickly pulls his hands into his lap, squeezing them together painfully. A beat of silence fills the room like fog, only dissipating when Harry changes the subject. The mood lightens as Draco lists off his favorite subjects: Potions, Ancient Runes, Astronomy…

“Oh, and especially Legilimency and Occlumency! I only took six weeks of those electives at Curdlebridge Institute, but I  _ loved _ it, and I had an Outstanding when I got expelled. Fucking wankers.”

Harry laughs at the foul language, not for the first time, throwing himself back in his chair and exposing the smooth skin of his throat. Unable to stop himself, Draco bursts out laughing in response. The air seems to glitter.

“Oh, shit!” Harry rasps, his laughter finally tapering off.

“Excuse you,  _ Professor _ ,” Draco mocks, “I’d expect more respectful language from my superior.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry dismisses, “I’m only twenty-one… four years hardly validates such designation.”

Draco’s eyes widen. He knew his tutor was young, but only four years older than himself? That feels… slightly uncomfortable, though there’s really no reason. As the energy of their laughter settles back down, they seem to avoid each other’s eyes. Apparently, the uneasiness is mutual.

“Yes,” Harry clears his throat, “Legilimency and Occlumency. I wasn’t as gifted in that area as you clearly are, Mr. Oustanding… but you seem passionate, so we’ll definitely work that into my curriculum.” Harry grips a quill in his slightly shaky hand and jots it down. “However, I don’t have any material on the subject.”

“Oh, that’s alright, you don’t -”

“Draco, I  _ want _ to teach what you enjoy. I just need to purchase a few books. Easy.”

“If you say so…”

“I do indeed. In fact,” Harry glances at his watch, “it’s only 12:30, and today brings the first fair weather in nearly a week. Are you up for a walk to Baggins’s Books?”

“That would take twenty minutes!”

“No complaining in my classroom! Come along!” Harry stands abruptly, his chair clattering backward, and swiftly leaves the room. With no one there to see it, Draco allows himself a wholehearted grin.

*****

Fifteen minutes later, Draco is suppressing shivers, fists buried deep in his coat pockets.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t just apparate…”

“We’re almost there. Besides! Look around,” Harry exclaims and halts, opening his arms. “We miss so much when we snap from place to place. Too much.”

“Is that so?” Draco shifts in place to ward off the cold. “Enlighten me. What am I missing?”

“I said,  _ look around _ .”

Draco sighs and obliges. He turns from the path.

Barren trees. A flat blue sky. Icicles gripping onto fenceposts. Blackbirds and Redwings patiently searching for bits of food. A long row of homes in the distance, like gingerbread houses. Young witches and wizards, several of them, zipping around on broomsticks. A pristine expanse of untouched snow, shimmering in the afternoon sun.

_ Oh. _

“Touché,” Draco concedes, drinking in the clean chilled air and quiet landscape. Surprised by the lack of a response, he turns. A contemplative expression softens Harry’s eyes and lips, white puffs of breath coming strangely quick.

“We’d better get going,” he says, boots crunching as he puts his back to Draco.

The brief final stretch of their walk is spent quietly, and Baggins’s Books is a sanctuary of warmth. To the left of the entrance, a dozen witches and wizards sit on cushiony furniture surrounding a large fireplace. Hundreds of books balance in precarious stacks around the space, and dozens more float a few feet below the ceiling, navigating to their shelves. To the right, a maze of tightly-packed bookshelves covers all available floor space. Jars of peaceful orange flames float here and there, a needed source of light when the windows are blocked by even more shelves. Draco notices a witch weaving through, a jar of light and stack of books charmed to follow her around.

“Welcome to Baggins’s Books, established 1699, the oldest magical bookstore in Great Britain! My name is Camellia, what can I help you locate today?” A tiny cheerful employee asks after hurrying over.

“We’re looking for nonfiction books on Occlumency and Legilimency,” Harry says.

“Of course! Right this way!”

They follow her deep into the labyrinth. When Draco bumps his head on a flaming jar, he finds that it’s pleasantly warm, not scalding as he imagined. Pausing, he pulls it from the air, cradling it in his hands, still frigid from the walk. The sensation is so welcome, his eyes drift closed with a contented exhale. A moment later, he realizes his fatal mistake. The voices of Harry and the saleswitch have faded into nothing, lost among the dense books.

Instead of panic at being trapped in a giant, congested store, Draco feels more relaxed than he has all day. Harry is absolutely stressing him out. Every luminous smile, kindhearted comment, genuinely caring glance… it’s making it hard to be the usual grumpy Draco. He’s laughed more in the last four hours than… he doesn’t know how long. Maybe since Father died. That’s a sickening thought, but likely true. Turning to rest his forehead on a shelf, he closes his eyes tightly, forcing down the thoughts of Father and threatening tears. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes again, and all traces of grief are immediately gone.

Because there is a scantily clothed man staring up at him from the spine of a book.

“Guhh,” Draco says stupidly and stumbles backward, ramming into the shelf behind. It sways dangerously and several books tumble to the floor. One lands open on a random page and erotic screams of pleasure ring out wildly. A wash of dread drenches Draco, head to toe, and he drops to his knees, scrambling for the moaning book. Just before slamming it shut, he sees the open section was entitled  _ Enlargement Spells and Object Insertion _ .

“What. The fuck.” Draco breathes, embarrassment thumping. He hurriedly scoops up the fallen books and shoves them back onto the shelf with no concern for alphabetical order. Completely disturbed, he scowls and checks to make sure no one saw anything. “What kind of section is this, anyway?”

“You are in the section entitled ‘Human Sexuality!’” the fire-jar announces far too loudly above his head. Batting it down the aisle to avert the suspicion of anyone who overheard, he mentally curses the fucking thing with all he has. After making sure no more books threaten to fall out and further horrify him, Draco sits, leaning against the shelf.

He stares ahead furiously. Then, one title directly opposite catches his eye:  _ Gay is Magic: Queerness in the Wizarding World. _

Time freezes. A raw heave of embarrassment prickles up his neck. He’d better just stand up, leave this absurd part of the store, and start looking for Harry.

But his body doesn’t budge, not even his glance moves from that rainbow-striped binding:  _ Gay is Magic _ . 

It’s just a bloody book. Worth a quick peek, right?

Checking once, then again, to be certain no one is spying on him, Draco carefully removes the book and flips through. Chapter titles like and “Accepting Your Letter of the Rainbow,” “Pride: The Basics,” and “Coming Out: Who, When, How” flash by. He steels himself and flips back to chapter one, called “You’re Not Alone” and starts reading.

_ Hello there! Whether you’re out-and-proud, the parent of a queer child, or someone questioning their gender or sexuality for the first time, I am so glad you’re here! You hold in your hands an all-in-one guide to being LGBTQ+ in today’s magical society. Here, you’ll find stories of the brave witches and wizards who fought for equality, personal advice from peers and supportive parents, information about safe sex practices for everyone on the queer spectrum, and more! You have nothing to fear. You may feel totally alone in your struggle, but I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, I wrote this book because I will be your friend through this journey, even if you have no one else right now. I’d like to start by - _

“What have you got there?” 

“FUCK! NOTHING!” Draco yells, flinching away from Harry, who is somehow kneeling directly beside him. Draco’s face instantly goes red hot, and he struggles to wedge the book back into its spot before Harry can read the title. He holds a palm over the binding, but it’s no use. Nothing can hide its rainbow stripes. 

Giving up, Draco clutches the book to his chest and hangs his head, practically curled into a ball where he sits. His mouth is bone-dry, words are lost. Staring at the floor, hardly breathing, fear like needles feeding into his veins, he is numb.

“We’ll take this one, too,” he can hear Harry say. He feels hands tenderly loosening his grip and prying the book away.

“No.” His voice comes from somewhere hollow and dark.

“We’ll find the checkout just fine on our own. Thank you for all your help,” Harry’s voice tells someone who isn’t Draco.

“I wasn’t.” Draco tries again. Two first words of a world of lies.

“You’re okay,” Harry whispers. He curls a warm hand around one of Draco’s wrists, tethering him in the present. “You don’t know me very well, and I can’t expect your trust. But you  _ have to _ believe me when I tell you this… It’s going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope chapter 2 is satisfying! Let me know!


End file.
